


Into A Grey Sky Morning

by Daiako (Achrya)



Series: Promptioweek2017 [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Blow Jobs, Dysfunctional Family, Families of Choice, Family Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 08:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11376567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Daiako
Summary: The crew and owners of the Regalia are more like a family than Prompto has ever had before.  Sure, Ignis demanded they all show up for 'family dinner' was a little weird, and the surprise arrival of Gladio's father is far from the highlight of Prompto's day, but he can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.Promptio Week, Day 6, Family





	Into A Grey Sky Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Set in my Bar AU, which you can find out more about on my tumblr. But there's not much more to know than what's in here. 
> 
> Some side Ignoct, Highrum, and Luna/Nyx/Gentiana.

Prompto didn’t bother knocking before opening the door to step into the warmth of Ignis’ apartment. He kept his own place pretty warm to battle the near blizzard like conditions outside but Ignis’ home always seemed warmer, brighter, and more inviting to him. There was just something cozy about the apartment; it was wide open, most of the walls between the living room, dining room, and kitchen having come down in renovation, and the wood floors were always chilly and creaked, and the pipes rattled at odd moments. Yet, with the long wooden table already set, some food already filling the middle, flickering candles arranged here and there, soft music playing, and the sound of laughter filling the space, it made Prompto feel right at home. 

This was a place he was always welcome.

He headed right for the kitchen, a smile quirking his lips as the savory smells of cooking food and the sounds of dishes clattering and people talking washed over him. He’d barely rounded the bar that ‘separated’ the kitchen from the rest of the large room before the pan he was carrying was snagged from his hands by Aranea and everyone was addressing him.

It was the usual people, taking up all the excess space in the (honestly massive; it was obvious to anyone who came by where most of Ignis’ renovation focus had gone) kitchen. Plus Noctis who hadn’t been around long enough for Prompto to consider him ‘usual’ just yet, though he hoped he would be. Ignis was at the stove tending to an collection of pots and pans, Crowe hovering close and watching with open interest. Luna was at the island, wine glass in hand and Nyx standing beside her stool, laughing at something Cindy was saying that involved sweeping motions and aggressively pointed fingers, though all 3 paused to wave at him. Aranea had slid over the second over to put Prompto’s dish, stuffed mushrooms (one of exactly four things he knew how to make that was worth letting other people eat) in to warm. Cor, Weskham, and Cid he could see through the french doors, huddled out on the balcony and braving the bitter cold to smoke and drink beer. Prompto knew it was miserable out but, bundled up in heavy coats, gloves, and hats, they all seemed to be laughing about something and not bothered by the snow falling around them. 

Prompto beelined for the counter, which was already loaded with steaming serving dishes, plates, and bowls. He picked up a long tray loaded with naan, nimbly avoiding Talcott and Noctis who were already moving things to the table, and got to work helping. Talcott was moving quickly but Noctis was grabbing things gingerly, no doubt because of the stark white bandages wrapped around some of his fingers.

“Thank you Prompto.” Ignis called without actually turning around or even glancing up from what he was doing. “Crowe can you grab-”

Prompto tuned that out, instead focusing on Noctis. “What happened to your hand?”

Noctis made a face then inclined his head towards one of the serving trays on the table, piled high with pastries. Some of them looked perfect, crusts golden and smooth, tops dusted with a thin layer of sugar, and others were...less perfect. Crusts very dark in places, crumbling in others, and slightly misshapen. He was willing to guess that the darker ones were Noctis’ doing.

He was also pretty sure that Ignis would eat them no matter how awful they might have tasted, but decided to leave that thought unvoiced. It would only make Noct flail and panic and make Ignis do that thing where he started drinking and getting angsty about wanting to fuck someone a decade younger than him. Which could be fun but could also be a mood killer.

“Oh.” Prompto said as solemnly as he could manage, not quite able to keep his lips from curling up into a grin. “Maybe you should stick to stuff from the bakery from now on.” 

The look Noctis shot him could have peeled paint. “Thanks.” Prompto shrugged apologetically and Noctis sighed, anger vanishing from his face like it hadn’t been there at all. “I wanted to bring something like everyone else does. This whole dinner thing is...nice. I guess. Not what I'm used to.” 

He probably would have used the word strange actually, at least for him. It had seemed like something out of a cheesy tv show or movie when he’d been informed about Ignis’ bi-weekly dinners. Really people didn’t get together like this did they? The whole concept was so far removed from how he’d lived and yet...there it was. Every two weeks the restaurant closed early on Monday, five pm sharp, and the bar didn’t open at all. Everyone was expected to be at Ignis’ place by seven, though more often than they could look forward to people drifting in and out late into the night. Prompto was usually early; he did live above the restaurant, and thus below Ignis, so there wasn’t much excuse to be late.

And the first few times he’d been terrified of getting on Ignis’ bad side. 

The first time he’d been invited to dinner he’d been living ‘with’ Ignis, crashing in the guest bedroom in the top floor apartment, for about five weeks and working at the Regalia for three. He’d witnessed two of staff gatherings but had stuck to his room, not wanting to intrude. He’d been walking around on eggshells back then, all too convinced that one false move could land him back on the streets. He hadn’t been able to wrap his brain around the idea that someone could look at him and his situation and, instead of telling him to get lost, invite him and give him a place to stay and a job without wanting anything in return. He’d constantly been waiting for the other shoe to drop, trying to be ready for when Ignis would finally request something in return for what he was doing for him.

It couldn’t be as easy as ‘keep your room clean, be at work on time, get your GED, be at dinner on Monday by seven.’

Except it was that easy. Nearly two years later and Ignis still hadn’t demanded any more of him (aside from kicking him out of his place after a few months and even that had been followed by allowing him to rent the other apartment at what they both knew was a steep discount.) Prompto was still occasionally mystified but he’d come far from being the nervous, eager to please at all costs, awkward teenager Ignis had taken in. He’d gotten comfortable, found his place. Made friends. 

Found Gladio.

The Regalia crew had become something like a family, at least as far as Prompto knew what a family was, which admittedly was sketchy at best. A strange, patchwork, occasionally dysfunctional family that tended towards the dramatic, were all disgustingly nosy and had no idea how to just leave well enough alone. Were loud and blunt and imperfect and someone was always always there. They were messed up and broken and falling apart in starts and fits, but were never far from hands willing to put them back together as best they could. There was always a couch to crash on, a sympathetic ear to whine to, and someone willing to get in your face and call you on your shit, then hug you close and feed you.

It was nothing like how Prompto had grown up and the dinner Ignis made sure they all showed up for exemplified that. His adoptive parents hadn’t been around much, far too busy to pay attention to a nephew they’d only taken in because there was no one else to do it (he didn't begrudge them that. They hadn’t had any kids of their own, clearly hadn’t intended to ever do so, and then suddenly he’d been there and they had always seemed...confused about what to do with him. They’d kept him fed and clothed, safe, and he’d never wanted for much, except perhaps a little affection and knowing they were proud and god that was depressing, so who was he to complain now that they were gone?) On the rare occasion they’d had dinner at the same time in the same location it had usually involved Prompto in front of the TV and them in the kitchen or their bedrooms. Even holidays had been silent and usually tense affairs, with none of the warmth and energy of Ignis’ dinners. 

Prompto had a feeling Noctis was in the same boat. But with less homelessness and lonely empty houses and more scary overprotective dad who couldn’t see past the sickness and long lonely hospital stays mixed with lonely empty houses.

“It is nice.” Prompto agreed, eyes sweeping over the assembled people again. Really nice. He sort of loved it here.

Gentiana swept in with a pie, snowflakes clinging to her hair and eyelashes, kissed Luna and Nyx in turn, and was gone before the stuff had melted. Dave slunk in just past seven, offering what he insisted was the best butter chicken in Lestallum (“Trust me, I know a guy.”) and attempting to hit on a very bored looking Aranea. Cindy eventually slunk over to rescue her girlfriend and shoo a grinning Dave away, much to Aranea's obvious relief. The food was all assembled, drinks poured (or refreshed) and seats were being claimed just as the door opened again. Prompto turned, a smile he couldn’t help curving his lips because there was only one person left, and then stopped.

And blinked. 

Shedding their coats in front of the door was not just Gladio, as expected, but also Iris and Clarus. Iris wasn’t a surprise, she’d flown down from Insomnia to stay over the holiday, but Clarus was...well. If Clarus was in town Prompto’s chances of getting laid went from ‘let me get someone to distract Iris’ to ‘maybe in the New Year’. What with Gladio not wanting his dad to know they were dating and all. 

( _ “It’s not like I’m...it’s not like I don’t want people to know.” Gladio had explained one night, head resting on Prompto’s stomach as he ran his fingers through dark hair, rubbed at the shaved down parts, and hummed his understanding. “I’m too old to be sneaking around. ...anymore.”   _

_ He’d snorted because, yeah, he knew that. Gladio would tell literally anyone he could get to hold still long enough that he and Prompto were dating, always with that stupid pleased look on his face, like he genuinely thought Prompto was something great and worthy and...yeah. He knew that.  _

_ “It’s just your dad.”  _

_ “It’s just my dad.” He felt the words being pressed into his skin, soft lips and scratchy stubble. “The less involved in my life he is the happier we’ll both be.”) _

He looked past them to meet Gladio’s gaze and found what could only be described as ‘panic’ staring back at him. Prompto’s stomach sank. That couldn’t be good.

And neither could Clarus zeroing in on him right away and, leaving Gladio to deal with his coat, striding right across the floor to stand in front of Prompto. Who smiled weakly. Clarus wasn’t as tall as Gladio, nor as broad, but he wasn’t small by any stretch and as he towered over Prompto it was suddenly obvious where Gladio had learned ‘Intimidation 101’ from. 

“It’s Prompto, right? You’re the one sleeping with my son?" 

The apartment went quiet all at once, as if the world was holding it’s breath. Prompto’s mouth opened, shut, opened again, and finally he swallowed thickly, brain empty of any words that might help him. Dark eyes narrowed as Clarus gave him the once over, apparently forgetting that they’d met before. Twice. ...for about five minutes, all told. He looked over his shoulder at Gladio and there was so much going on in a single glance that Prompto didn’t even know where to start unpacking it. “I see.” 

That didn’t sound good either. 

Prompto only just heard the sound of Ignis’ long suffering sigh over the sound of his own thundering heartbeat. “Um. Hi?” 

“You’re younger than I expected. You look like someone Iris would bring home, not Gladio.” Prompto’s eyes slipped to the side at the sound of Iris’ annoyed hiss mixing with Gladio’s strangled groan, but not before he saw Clarus’ eyebrow twitch upwards. “How old are you?” 

“...twenty? ...sir.”

Clarus’ gaze sharpened. “You are aware that Gladio will be turning 32 soon? What does a twenty year old have in common with a man in his thirties, exactly?” 

Somewhere out of sight Ignis sighed again. 

“Dad.” Gladio snapped as he stepped forward to stand next to the man. “We had a deal.” 

Clarus hummed thoughtfully, eyes darting from Prompto to Gladio and back. He nodded once, firmly, attention once again solely on Prompto. “I was only allowed to come along if I promised not to make you uncomfortable. Are you uncomfortable?”  

‘Yes’ would have been a vast understatement. He was saved from having to dignify the question with a response when Ignis stepped out of the kitchen. His mouth was set in a straight line and Prompto could see he was squinting behind his dark lenses. 

“Gladio, would you and Prompto grab more wine from downstairs? The Riesling, I think, would be best.” He asked pleasantly, mouth curving into a placid smile. “Talcott, find an extra chair would you?” 

Prompto was all too happy to step around Clarus, smile tightly at Iris’ whispered sorry, hastily put on his shoes and scurry out of the door Gladio at his heels. The apartments weren't connected to the restaurant, the entrance that had once been between them blocked, so they had to venture put onto the biting cold and down the short alley to the front of the building. Prompto was shivering by the time Gladio let them in to the bar and was quick to duck past his boyfriend into the bar. 

There was a bit of a chill inside the dim bar but compared to outside it was a comfort. Prompto beelined straight to the wine closet at the back of the storage room to find what they needed. He wasn't eager to return back to the party, not with Gladio's imposing father up there, but he didn't want to leave Ignis waiting either. 

Gladio’s footsteps and the metallic tinkling of his keys were the only sounds Prompto could hear in the bar, coming steadily closer to him and then stopping. He could practically hear the hesitation in Gladio and imagine him, lips turned down at the corner, brows knitted together, hands pushing deep into his pockets. Prompto felt his presence at his back, warm and familiar, scant inches away. 

In the carefully maintained cleanliness of the room he could smell Gladio, that familiar scent of soap and leather. 

“How many bottles do you think we should take up?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. 

Gladio sighed and touched him, large hand settling on his hip and curling around it. His forehead touched the back of Prompto’s head and warm air brushed over his neck. 

“Hi babydoll.” 

Prompto sniffed. “Don't call me that.” 

His boyfriend chuckled, arm creeping further around his waist to hold him tighter. “I'm sorry about Clarus. Iris let it slip, as a ‘Gladio is doing fine, he's got a great boyfriend and everything’ thing. She meant well, I'm pretty sure. You know she's always trying to get us to be less...um.”

“Emotionally constipated?” 

“I. Guess. You could put it like that.” Gladio allowed, a touch of amusement to his voice. “I tried to call and warn you but you must have left your place already.”

Prompto nodded; he'd left his cell phone in his apartment, not wanting to risk the wrath of Ignis if he got caught playing with it during dinner. Advanced notice would have been nice but at least Gladio hadn't sprung his father on him deliberately. But then he wouldn't do that would he? Gladio knew confrontation wasn't something he handled well, a year ago this would have been a guaranteed panic attack, and would never do anything that might cause an ‘event’. 

“He doesn't like me. It's fine.” it wasn't really a surprise. Gladio was older and successful, from a good family, and Prompto was a former street kid with nothing to offer. Who wouldn't be at least a little concerned if that was all they knew? Clarus probably thought he was some kind of gold digger or trying to take advantage of Gladio. 

“Nah, it's not you. He's going to love you, trust me.” Gladio nuzzled behind his ear, kissed the hollow there. “He's pissed I've been with you long enough to give you a key and he hasn't heard anything about it. Doesn't like not being in control.” 

Prompto tilted his head back and smiled toothily. “So that's genetic then.”

Gladio looked decidedly unimpressed. “Don't give me shit Prom. He's been in town an hour and I'm already counting down to when their plane leaves.”

Prompto snorted then, feeling some pity when confronted with an increasingly pathetic look (Gladio was basically a giant, littered with scars, tattoos, and piercings, and could lay out a man with one punch but he pouted like he'd invented it when he was so inclined), twisted around to go up onto his toes and kissed Gladio. It was meant to be quick and chaste, a bit of comfort, but Gladio reacted fast, hauled him closer, kissed him deeper. Their tongues slid together, wet and hot, and teeth nibbled at his lower lip. Hands drifted lower on his back, under his sweater to press against his skin then down the back of his pants. 

A rough squeeze and rocking hips had him groaning into Gladio’s mouth. He cursed softly and tried to pull away to breathe. He panted out a ‘wait a second’ but Gladio had already shifted his attention, mouth finding his neck, nipping and sucking a path down to his shoulder. Gladio’s knee pushed between his thighs and the hands on his ass dragged him closer, made him grind against it. Gladio pushed him around at the same time, had him stumbling back into a wall hard enough to make bottles rattle. 

Gladio pulled back to drag Prompto’s shirts off, exposing him to a chill he could barely feel, and then hunched down to drag his tongue over an already perked up nipple. Teeth tugged at the small hoop just enough to sting as nimble fingers pinched and teased at the other side 

“Oh. Ohhh. Gladdy, wait.” Prompto felt more than heard the questioning hum against his skin, vibrating through his chest. “We gotta-hnn-get back. Everyone will know. Your dad-"

“Please,” Gladio said, head tilting so he could stare at him with pleading eyes. “Please. Never talk about my dad when I'm trying to have sex with you.” 

Prompto’s burst of laughter faded into a shaky moan as blunt teeth sunk into his shoulder. It was a little embarrassing how quickly Gladio could get him to a point where he was hard in his pants and foggy brained, but it was hard to really protest when he was being encouraged to rock against a thick, warm thigh. He tried his best, trying to work his too thick tongue and push out reasons it was a bad idea, even when his pants were popped open and Gladio’s hand wrapped around him and the older man dropped down to his knees on front of him, ending with “Ignis is going to kill us.” 

“Like he and the princess haven't fucked on every surface in here.” 

“...wait, what?” 

The only response he got was on the form of a blazing hot mouth wrapping around his cock and swallowing him down all at once. Prompto yelped and grabbed a fistful of Gladio’s hair, tugging hard. Gladio’s throat was tight and wet around the head of his dick, his tongue rough where it curled around his shaft and played over sensitive veins. He sucked and hummed, bobbed his head while moaning shamelessly around him. 

Prompto tipped his head back, colliding with the wall behind him with a crack, and pulled harder at his boyfriend's hair. Fuck, that was good. Gladio knew just what he liked, the right pace and pressure, knew when to pull off to mouth at his balls to draw it out and make Prompto shout and shudder. A finger dragged back along the skin behind his balls, teased at his hole with light pressure and circling, and Gladio’s mouth found his cock again, slid messily along the underside before sucking him back down. 

It had been a while and Gladio was so so good, so smug and pleased and sloppy, and it took an shamefully short amount of time for Prompto to be hovering in the edge. Gladio circled and played with his hole, never dipping in more than a fingertip, and hummed around his cock, all while holding Prompto’s gaze with dark watery eyes. Another long filthy suck, a pleased rumble low in Gladio's throat, and Prompto came with a shout he didn't even attempt to muffle. 

Gladio drank it all down greedily, only letting up when he's milked Prompto dry, and then he settled back on his heels and parted his lips to let Prompto see his release coating his tongue, filling his mouth. 

He pressed a hand over his eyes and slid down to the floor. “Holy fuck Gladdy.”

“Flatterer.” Gladio leaned in and brushed a wet kiss over his cheek. “Consider that an apology for the dry spell. ...and my dad. And all my other shit.” 

Prompto wanted to tell him that there was no apology needed, that he'd happily put up with anything Gladio threw at him the same way Gladio waded through panic attacks, a minefield of self worth issues, and good old fashioned depression. But Gladio would wave it off and act like Prompto’s issues were nothing, or some sort of privilege to deal with and not a burden, like he'd battle against Prompto’s demons anyway but couldn’t believe Prompto would do the same.

So he didn't say that.

“Solid apology. Ten of ten, would accept any time.” Prompto said, blinking sleepily. Then looked down towards the obvious tent in Gladio's pants. “You want-”

Gladio kissed him again, slow and lingering, salt and bitterness on his swollen lips, then shook his head. “I'm good. Let's get this wine upstairs.”

When they finally made it upstairs, having tidied up, straightened their clothes, and found Gladio some mints (“You have dick breath.” “Sometimes I forget what a romantic you are babe.”), they were confronted with a few knowing looks, an exasperated eye roll from Ignis, and a telling frown from Clarus. Prompto settled into the seat next to Gladio, smiling where normally he'd cower and panic, his boyfriend’s hand holding his own tightly. Maybe it was the warmth of the apartment or post orgasmic bliss or the comforting buzz of conversation mixed with the comfort of good food and family, but he felt like he could take on the world. 

Or, at least, one disapproving father.


End file.
